


Derek Hale's Apartment For Teenagers Who Are Supernatural (And Supernaturally Hot) And Don't Want To Die

by gala_apples



Series: An Alphabet of Teen Wolf Crossovers [25]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Zoolander (2001)
Genre: Casual Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Season/Series 04, Threesome, canonical ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3180248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott should have known something was up when Stiles was obviously smug about something but wouldn't say what. He really wasn't expecting a figure from Derek's past to be the thing in question though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Derek Hale's Apartment For Teenagers Who Are Supernatural (And Supernaturally Hot) And Don't Want To Die

**Author's Note:**

> written for the Scerek+ fest.

Stiles has been squirmy all day. Squirmy, and oddly determined to stick around and cockblock Scott’s weekend. Superficially, at least. Scott is well aware that all it would take for Stiles to go away is to tell him he needs to leave, he and Derek need some alone time. Stiles would cackle and snark and just be Stilesy in general, but he would go. He’s not actually an asshole, he just plays one on tv. Or something. 

Scott’s not at that point yet. He’s got no plans to go home before Monday. His mom’s working a double, and again on Sunday, and she gave him permission to sleep over with Derek. Even if Derek was busy, landlord duties or wrangling Peter or making preliminary connections with other Packs for Scott to follow up on, Scott still would spend the night at Stiles’ or Liam’s. Somewhere that’s not home. With Dad back, again, renting out a room in their house so they can pretend there aren’t dire money problems, there’s an uncomfortable amount of overlap. The awkward exchanges only get worse when Mom’s not there to buffer them. Scott’s not putting himself in that space if he doesn’t have to, and he’s got his mom’s blessing to not. So with two days of boyfriend time laid out in front of Scott, Stiles crashing part of it doesn’t bother him.

He hears the heartbeats, of course. It’s not enough to put Scott on edge. Six months ago it would have been. Stiles calls it hypervigilance, because he’s the king of researching too much and not particularly caring about what he’s unearthed beyond informing others. Thanks to Stiles doing a run on the DSM 5, everyone Pack adjacent knows their various issues by name. Six months ago Scott was still pretty paranoid about every movement and sound surrounding the loft. But Derek has renovated the building, made it suitable for apartments, and now there are neighbours. Heartbeats getting steadily closer only means someone living at the end of the hall coming back from grocery shopping.

Or not. The heartbeats settle outside the sliding metal door. Scott sits up straighter, Derek bristling just as much beside him. It’s only two potential attackers, between them they should be able to keep Stiles safe. Even if one of them has to grab him and crash out the window.

There’s a knock. Scott tenses even more. Attackers don’t _knock_. Polite villains are the worst. It’s so much easier for Jennifer types to get their deeds done than a kanima or berserker. 

What makes it even worse is that Stiles is suddenly joyous. He knows what’s coming, and he’s happy. Scott can smell it on him, can hear it. Whatever’s on the other side of the door has control of his friend, and Scott is just done with that. The Nogitsune was enough for a lifetime. Whatever it is, Scott’s going to tear its head off, no second thoughts.

He strides forward and slams the door to the side. Derek attempts to keep the metal lubricated, but the industrial charm is no match for Scott’s fury. The door squeals as it races to the left.

Revealing a man with a weird looking messenger bag hooked over his shoulder and stroller handles in hand.

Scott deflates instantly. The seat of the stroller is covered with a luxurious looking blanket, but it’s highly unlikely that there’s a pint sized demon under it. Derek is suddenly a halo of low grade anxiety, but that’s what happens when he gets confused. Despite the ever changing reality, the soul of him is a Beta, meant to execute, not plot. Stiles hasn’t changed from thrilled, which means he knows what this is.

The man kind of waggles his face. “Um, hello much? Move.”

“Stiles what did you do?” Scott hisses as the man guides the stroller past him and further into the loft.

“I’m gonna start by saying this all started really innocently. I was looking up resources for Malia, stuff to help her get her grades up. This guy is one of the people who runs, and I quote, ‘The Derek Zoolander Center for Kids Who Can't Read Good and Wanna Learn to Do Other Stuff Good Too’. It’s actually called that! He’s also an ex-model, for a company called Balls Models.”

“I am not an ex-model. I didn’t get fat or gross. I am an retired model. Matilda and Hansel and I run the Center for the kids!”

“Right, man. Good job on remaining hot.” Stiles shoots him a thumbs up, to which Zoolander strikes a pose with his face. “Anyway, I got trapped in a link spiral, and uh. How can I say this best?”

Scott shrugs. Honestly, he’s surprised Stiles hasn’t already blurted whatever it is. If it was really bad news or really good news he would have already said it. The only reason left is theatricality. To which, well, why not let Stiles enjoy himself?

“Scott, did you and Hale Hottiepants ever talk about what he and Laura did when they lived in New York?”

Scott scowls at Stiles. He and Derek have a mutual agreement to leave past family memories alone. Between his dad skulking around and Peter, they already have too many reminders.

“I guess not. Well, here’s your answer. Derek was a model. For Balls Models. It’s _actually called that_.

Zoolander rakes Derek over with his eyes. Scott is a protective man, not a possessive one, and the sight of another person checking out his boyfriend doesn’t bother him. “You could still model. Your five-o-clock shadow looks much better than Hansel’s did. Matilda and I made him shave. Except, wait- Take your shirt off.”

“No.”

“What? Come on Derek, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before. Do it, for science!” Stiles pleads.

“Are you someone who’s not a listener? I don’t know science. I know educational theories, and how to look really really really ridiculously good looking. If you want to model again you need to let me see your abs.”

Scott bites his lip so he doesn’t laugh out loud. It’s not much help, Derek already knows, thanks to his heartbeat, but he can at least try to not be rude.

“I missed Derek’s birthday, because no one told me you’re a Christmas baby.”

Scott shrugs. Stiles knows him well enough to read that as Scott apologising for not knowing either. He can understand why Derek wouldn’t have told him though. The family issues that they can escape from with each other are even stronger and more concentrated during the holidays. The Hales probably did a dozen special birthday things that are impossible to recreate. Better to just avoid it altogether.

“So anyway, as soon as I found out about Derek Remus the Balls model,” Stiles pauses for a moment to stop himself from snickering, “I knew I needed to get your old friends to celebrate your special day!”

The euphoria is coming off of Stiles in waves. Scott’s pretty sure the last time Stiles was this pleased with the universe was before the Nogitsune. Maybe the time he got to hurl lacrosse balls at his best friend whom he was slightly pissed at, in the name of helping him? There’s never been a question about Stiles being a little shit, at heart. But Zoolander seems happy enough to be here, and Derek’s anxiety is essentially baseline, now that he knows why this is happening, so why ruin this for Stiles?

“Thanks, Stiles,” Derek grits out.

“You know it, beta of our hearts!”

“I couldn’t bring Meekus, Brint, and Rufus for your party, since they died in that freak gasoline fight accident. But Matilda and Hansel are getting samples at all the restaurants. Once they find something suitable, Hansel will help you change into something less hideous, and we can go out.”

Scott looks over at his boyfriend. Derek’s still wearing the same thing he was twenty minutes ago; a loose pair of jeans and a black v-neck shirt. Plain Scott could understand, but hideous? Fashion people are weird. “Samples?”

“You know,” Zoolander starts. “When you sit down and the chef gives you what you want to eat in case you want to come back again later? Ugly people buy more when they’re surrounded by pretty people. That’s how capitalism works, duh.”

“This has to be the greatest conversation I’ve ever had!” Stiles whispers, more than loud enough for both the werewolves to hear him. His eyes are lit up like the Sheriff bought him Disneyland for Christmas and filled each roller coaster seat with gummy bears.

“You flew from New York to eat a birthday dinner with me?” Derek asks, ignoring Stiles utterly.

“After the Derelicte campaign you and Laura disappeared. I thought I’d see you again, in print or film. You were too popular to not announce your retirement. But you were nowhere! Not even overseas! I missed you.”

The blanket on the stroller starts to wriggle. A moment later it falls off completely, revealing a kid older than Scott would have guessed from the fact that there’s a stroller involved.

“Dooce.”

Scott hasn’t been around kids very much, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the toddler’s asking for juice. Unfortunately he knows the contents of Derek’s cupboards pretty intimately, and juice isn’t among the bottles in the fridge. Too much artificial flavour for a werewolf tongue. Or at least a hereditary werewolf, from an upperclass family. Scott’s a lot more used to eating stuff despite how odd it might taste than Derek is. Derek’s never had money problems.

“Sorry kiddo. I don’t have juice.”

Scott doesn’t know what to expect next. Crying, maybe? The toddler repeating the request because he used too many words to say no and the kid doesn’t understand? Getting out of the stroller to ask his dad because this random adult in front of him is obviously useless? A full out temper tantrum, complete with kicking and screaming? What he’s not expecting is for the kid to stare him down.

“He’s doing this thing with his face? Is he okay?”

Zoolander laughs the way Stiles laughs at teachers who make an offhand comment about something he’s obsessively researched. “That’s Dere’s first Look.” Scott can hear the capital letter. “He wants juice, and he knows a strong brow is the first step to getting what you want.”

“Oh, _wow_ ,” Stiles gasps gleefully.

“Um, okay. I guess? Except we really don’t have juice.”

“The Packhouse has some, I’m pretty sure. I could take Dere and get him some?” Stiles offers. 

As far as Scott knows, Stiles has no more hands on experience with kiddies than he does. That said, there’s not a lot of danger in it. The Pack apartment is only three down the hall, a free place for anyone to crash if they need a night away from their parents, or somewhere safe to hide from the supernatural. Thanks to Deaton, Meredith, and Mason, it’s as tightly sealed against predators as Bobby Singer’s angelproof basement is. It takes a lot, there’s a reason why the same procedure can’t be done to anyone’s home, but it’s safe for occasional use.

“Dooce!”

“You heard the man,” Zoolander says impatiently. 

Stiles shrugs and boosts the leather jacket wearing toddler into his arms. Derek follows them to the door and closes it behind them, since Stiles’ hands are currently busy. On the way back to the couch he grabs Zoolander by his thin wrist, fingers sliding between half a dozen bracelets. Derek sits in the middle of the sofa, seemingly unsurprised when Zoolander kicks his shoes off and tucks his feet under Derek’s thigh. Whatever relationship they used to have -and at this point, that’s really up in the air- it ended well enough that Derek’s still comfortable being touched by him. It makes Scott more interested in the man behind the fashion.

“So uh, Dere- He’s yours and...?”

“Hansel and Matilda’s. Earth to youuu,” Zoolander sing-songs.

“So you co-raise him together?”

“What else would I do with my husband and wife? We run a school now, Derek Junior is learning much more than he could learn from a au pair.”

Scott isn’t entirely sure what to say to that. He’s never heard of anyone having that kind of relationship. Even those Mormon families on tv have one man and a bunch of women, not a mixed set.

Derek has his own question. “Do you mean the Hansel who was your arch rival? What happened?”

“Had an orgy with him and ‘Tild and some midgets while on peyote, and then he helped me not assassinate the Malaysian Prime Minister.”

Scott waits for Zoolander to start laughing. But he doesn’t, way past the point that it’s tricksey silence. The male model is being serious. That’s a thing that actually happened to him. If Scott was quiet at the first revelation he’s mute now. How’s he supposed to continue this conversation? If only Stiles was here. There’s no way he wouldn’t have a smart ass reply. Stiles will probably weep for the missed opportunity to say ‘as you do’. 

From his perch on the arm of the couch, Scott can see the face Zoolander makes at Derek perfectly. It’s not an expression, it’s a modelling face, one that’s disturbingly similar to his two year old’s. 

Derek shakes his head. “Enough with the Blue Steel. Use your words.”

On second thought, no. Good thing Stiles isn’t in the room. He’d burst a seam laughing at the scene of Derek advising someone to communicate with more than body language. But Zoolander takes the advice to heart. “Huh. I forgot that Blue Steel doesn’t work on other models.”

Scott’s pretty sure that duck-face doesn’t really work on anyone, except sometimes teen girls on Facebook. He doesn’t say that though. His brain-to-mouth filter works a lot better than Stiles’ or Malia’s.

“So what do you want?” Derek prompts when the porcelain faced man doesn’t go on.

“What? Oh, right. You’re on my fifty exceptions list. Do you want to boff? We could lose some calories before dinner.”

Fifty? Shit, Zoolander must really be famous if his relationship -strong enough to raise a child and run a business- has fifty sexual encounter exceptions to it. Scott’s only ever heard of a top five list before. And he’s never heard of someone actually acting on it, turning a hypothetical into an experience of skin and scent.

“My boyfriend’s sitting right there, Derek.”

“I thought he might be.” There’s absolutely no layers in Zoolander’s voice. He was confused as to who Scott might be, but had a theory. It’s weird. Scott knows a lot of not book smart, but socially or societally intelligent people. Aiden and Ethan, Malia, Brett, Melanie. Drop any of them into a foreign country and they would do just as well as they would at home because they know how to survive people. Zoolander is an idiot, and he can’t pick up a social cue from a man wearing another man’s sweater, a size or two too big. 

“Scott is important to me.” Derek’s words make Scott smile. It’s nothing he didn’t know, but it’s still nice to hear. Especially in downtime. Heartfelt declarations always feel a little hollow after an emergency is over. Derek’s fingers hugging his ankle means more.

“Yeah? And?”

“I’m not cheating with you.”

Zoolander rolls his eyes. “That’s why it’s an exception. Duh.”

Scot makes a rapid decision. Not with his Alpha brain, the part of him that generally takes the reins when things have gotten out of control and a split second choice needs to be made, but with his all too human emotions. “It’s not cheating if it’s a threesome.”

“Awesome, man. Good choice.” Zoolander cheers.

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t feel threatened by a model with a kid and a life in New York. We know who we are.” Even if Derek didn’t love him, Scott certainly wouldn’t lose him to Zoolander. He’s gorgeous but Derek needs a fighter. Zoolander looks like a bad hair day could kill him, never mind a wendigo.

 **Stay in the pack room** Scott texts to Stiles. It’s one thing to have a threesome on a whim. It’s completely another for his best friend to accidentally let a child catch a glimpse of it.

**why**

**Your present was a old friend. My present is a threesome.**

**no fuckin way**

**Yes**

Stiles sends something else, but Scott puts his phone down rather than check it. He’s got something to do.


End file.
